Asphalt
by Soprana
Summary: Maka is hitchhiking across the US to get to Death City, Nevada. So far, she's only made it five miles: walking. Her Papa warned her of the dangers around hitchhiking, but she's tired already and she needs to make it to college and the last known location of her Mama. With great reluctance, her thumb goes up and she waits. Wait, is that a motorcycle stopping? Resbang '15


_Pairing: SoMa, hints of TsuStar_

 _Rating: PG-13_

 _Warnings: Excessive road trip troubles, language, anxiety inducing situations_

* * *

There had to be a better option than this, Maka thought miserably as her palm slathered sweat all over the plastic handle of her black rolling suitcase. Gravel created resistance to the small wheels but she trudged on her path with a high head and a few select words for how ridiculous this situation had become.

The suitcase only bobbled and fishtailed behind her, filled with clothing and her valued necessities. The sole companion of her journey, it lagged and caused more strain than necessary for what it was worth.

However, it was nothing compared to the backpack currently in the process of snapping her spine in two. The worn purple backpack with the aged stitching and the poorly sewn patches had been with her for many school years and years after high school. It had been with her on those start up jobs as a receptionist or a file sorter. The pathetic back pack had followed her through her days of searching for something better, watching her back while she flowed through life, day by day.

The woman liked to believe that was the purpose her mother gave it to her; to be with her through thick and thin and hold all her dreams behind metal teeth and a sub-par zipper. The bag was meant to do everything her mother couldn't do while traveling the world and escaping her womanizing ex-husband. It was a cloth sign of apology with the white letters of 'Eastsport' included.

A pothole swallowed up a wheel of her suitcase, nearly sending Maka toppling back with the combined weight of resistance and backpack gravity. One long leg kicked out in desperation for balance, and the edges of the books in her backpack dug into her shoulders in retribution.

In retrospect, there were hundreds of better plans than this: trekking down the cracked and breaking road away from her shared apartment.

Well, now her father's apartment. She took her name off the lease just this morning while he laid inebriated on the living room floor, his latest squeeze having escaped earlier with a purse full of a silverware set her Mama had sent for Christmas.

Every night, she hid in her room and was forced to listen to the conquests the man brought from the clubs. Sometimes he was sober...others he was plastered enough to make poor choices in escorts. The thieving ones were not as bad as the 'inclusive' ones. Those that immediately greeted her like they were bound to be a stepmother of hers.

Maka hated finding her costly home items missing but she loathed her father moving on even more.

If he had not cheated, her Mama would still be around and they would be happy. At least, that was what Maka believed. He solidified her belief that men were hardly trustworthy.

Anyway, there were hundreds of better ideas than running away, going incognito and traveling across the country to attend one of the prestigious colleges her father failed to hear her talk about. Nah, he'd fall asleep during her excited explanations or get sidetracked with a particularly short skirt and mile long legs.

The ash blonde had enough. She was in college now, on a fast track to being somebody grand, and her Papa was just drifting away under the gulf stream of ARMANI. Mama could never give her advice, the adventurous woman sending only postcards from places around the world. The second-most recent had been from Jamaica, where a staple family of four were grinning as they hurtled off the Cliffs of Negril with nothing but bathing suits and megawatt smiles.

Yeah, her opinion was as far away as Maka ever getting near a cliff edge.

There were buses, the tickets bearable but out of her budget range. Maka had known where the bus stations were and they certainly were a closer walk than this, but stubbornness tended to be a stubborn trait.

She could have taken a train, the prospect of getting a state room a decent enticement. Still, after the Amtrak accident, trains had become an aversion. Ever since that accident back during her childhood, Maka had grown to fear the sound of crunching metal and twisting steel. The motion of jolting as kinetic energy drew to an intense halt plagued her memories, and seeing the tattered remains of a locomotive had ruined any thought of train travel.

Anything was better than this, however. She could have done trains and buses and planes. Maka could have done cruise ship hopping, car rental, or stashing away in the back of a moving truck.

Anything was better and safer than hitchhiking across the country.

Her Mama taught her better: The whole stranger danger and hitchhiking horrors that nearly every parent preached to their kids. Yet, here she was, walking solo down this highway towards Interstate 93, arm out and thumb raised to the sky. It was like a moral surrender.

To make matters worse, vehicles passed by with reckless speed, honking horns and swerving much too close for comfort. A few unruly ones were on the receiving end of her middle finger salute but otherwise her day had been rather unsuccessful in hitching a ride.

Mini vans and semis blazed past her, sending her pigtails whirling to slap at her flushed cheeks. The concrete was hot, sweltering even, for early August weather. Maka wished she had packed a bottle of water...or the resolve to turn around and go home.

Her destination was going to be even worse for weather.

Her red and black checkered mini skit clung to her sweaty legs, the sweat seeping through her socks and lathering the insides of her combat boots.

This journey was only five miles in and she was exhausted.

A fiery painted low ride truck blazed past and kicked up small pebbles into her path, the stench of cigarette smoke lingering long after it vanished over the horizon. The freshman woman stared dismally after it, wishing nothing more than to sprout wings and get to her destination on her own wing power.

What a delightful wish.

Lost in her musing, the low growl of an engine settling into idle hardly registered to her buzzing ear drums. The purr that followed was of a lesser horsepower device, not like a semi or a car settling into motionless stagnation.

It was the generic sound of a motorbike, fierce but tame while caged behind metal and strong, straddling thighs. The woman gave a pained sigh as her books gave another punishing grind in between her ribs as her head turned to take in her new company.

It was a bike, her eyes assessed, with pasty orange paint and not so shiny chrome additions. The fender had a single spike, matching the one that protruded from the headlamp. The whole thing looked like a 'do it yourself' kind of design, and that already had Maka on edge.

Still, this was the first person that stopped.

As the person removed themselves from the black leather seat, she realized from the height that he was male, her suspicion confirmed when he removed his glossy helmet that was decorated with stickers of which she could not identify.

A head of white hair became exposed to the sunlight, red eyes lingering on her with a rather bored expression. Jagged, pearly white teeth glinted in the mid-morning light as he smirked. Overall, Maka likened him to a punk, looking for thrills on the open roads of America.

His yellow and orange Vans paled in comparison to the vibrant bike, his shoulders slouching over beneath a Letterman jacket as his gaze lazily took her in.

"Looking for a lift?" He said in a drone-like tone, red eyes drooping to inspect her little rolling bag behind her as if curious about its contents. Hands deposited into his pockets, his shoulders slouched and displayed a much more lax behavior of this strange man.

He didn't strike her as one of those staple horror story characters that picked up lonely hitchhikers to bury them where not even the police would find the body. Then again, maybe people thought she had been the murderous hitchhiker...

Her head ached from the heat and the over-thinking.

"Yeah. I'm trying to get to Death City, Nevada-" She supplied with a reasonably amount of exhaustion. "-and I've only made it five miles."

The man smirked with raised brows, that toothy grin settling her worries with a strange familiarity that surpassed her understanding. This dude was a stranger and a _male_ but she trusted him...barely.

"That sucks. Try sticking a leg out. Maybe some guy will stop." He mused with a shrug, the toothy grin flashing teasingly.

Great. A jokester, Maka thought with a cringe. Just what she needed in this expansive road trip of emancipation. Not that she didn't enjoy the trope of two unlikely travelers coming together and having a great journey of memories and self discovery but, really Maka just wanted to get to Nevada with no strings attached.

There were bigger things than self discovery and epiphanies, like getting to her college and getting her Mama to come home with pride. Badda-bing badda-boom, instant happy life.

"Ah hah. Funny. Can I have a ride or not?" The ash blonde woman sighed, delicately massaging her temples. The heat of the asphalt penetrated her boots and gave her a slight head rush of exhaustion. Too bad the closest Cold Stone Creamery was about twenty miles away. Maka wanted to take a personal break digging into a Love-It sized strawberry cheesecake and cooling off.

It would only be worse in Death City so she supposed getting used to it was required.

The stranger nodded, stepping aside to offer the bike's seat for her choice. To ride or not to ride. "I can get you to Memphis."

That was good enough for Maka.

Cars sped by as he helped her strap her rolling bag to the metal bar in the back, securing it for the thousand mile trip to Memphis. One thousand miles to Memphis in the passenger seat of a stranger's bike.

Easy peasy.

"The name is Soul, by the way-" He offered as he slid onto the bench seat, hands settling on the handlebars covered with orange as he watched her expectantly, grinning at her awkward scan of the machine she had yet to board. "-just so we are on a first name basis, you know?"

She hardly cared, eyeing the slightly elevated back seat of her transport. She just had to get to Death City, start school, and then contact her Mama. After all, her most recent postcard this week was from Death City.

Maybe walking was better in the first place.

Maka had only ridden a bike once—the kind with pedals and chains-back before her parents split. It had been one of those rental bikes that did not come with training wheels or instructions. The asphalt had been hard, tearing into her tender palms and knees like hungry fangs, and she no longer had any desire to try again, even after her parent's encouragement.

How she wished she had tried again now, eyeing the machine that was obviously for the more leveled up riders, fit with gasoline and gears as well as a necessity for a license to operate. Asphalt hurt, and hitting it at seventy miles per hour would be agony.

Soul regarded her silently for a moment, raised brows and all as the woman shifted from one foot to the other while her fingers twisted at her skirt nervously. Teeth nettled at her lower lip as forest green eyes took in the seat that would carry her to Tennessee, a reasonable about of color fading from her cheeks.

"Uh, you alright, pigtails?"

Her spine stiffened, shoulders straightening taunt as she fixed him with a squinting glare. "My name isn't 'pigtails'. It's Maka and I am completely fine, thanks." The snappish reply left the white haired man chuckling as she haughtily stomped up to the motorbike to lift her right leg in an effort to mount, only to drop it down in hesitation.

Once again, her other leg rose to the challenge, only to return to her side once again. With jerky motions she paced one step left and then two steps right, obviously calculating her motions.

To Soul, it was painful to watch any longer. Fixing his slouch, the man easily reached under her arms and _lifted_ her clear into the air, placing her on the bike kicking and screaming. Ignoring her tantrum, he dragged an old looking helmet with scuffs and scribbles, plopping it on her head and fastening it to a proper tightness.

" _Soul! Why'd you do that!?_ Put me down before I make sure you never know male pride again!"

With a shrug, the biker peered at her over his shoulder with nothing but a curve to his lips as he remarked, "Do you want a ride or not, Maka? It's kinda hard to get one when not on the bike and I gotta keep moving." Black gloved hands reached and gripped the handlebars, his head turning to reach for his helmet once more. With a practiced flick, the beast beneath them roared to life, growling as it idled. Maka lunged and clung around Soul's torso, nearly melding into his back while her heart raced behind her ribs.

There was still time to back out and walk.

With a short hum of 'hold on tight', the bike began to move forward, the rumble of the exhaust deafening as they left the roadside behind.

Her fingers interlocked like fleshy chains around his torso, the tense position of her shoulders aching after only ten minutes of travel. The vibrations of the throttle gave her a numb buzz on her thighs but everything else in her senses was lost to the wind and the roar of passing cars.

Soul kept incredible balance, weaving safely between lanes to quicken the travel from Boston to Memphis, her spooning him the entire way.

Trees whizzed past her vision in a green blur, signs incomprehensible as she stared straight out and swallowed thickly. White cars, blue cars, semi's with logos and signs fell past their speed. The words 'slow down' burned in the back of her throat but her lips locked around them to prevent peep.

It wasn't until the sun had long since sank in the skyline, street lights illuminating the roads, that the bike turned off the road.

Now, there had been many bypasses and turn-offs since her pick up, but when the engine downed to a mild idle, she found herself glancing up from behind slouched shoulders to see a small motel parking lot.

The biker angled the ride into an empty spot, catching the majority of the weight on his right leg as he killed the power. Likewise, his weight shifted back slightly, a groan of exhaustion passing through his lips.

"I thought we were going to Memphis." Maka murmured into his back, still desperately trying to coach her muscles to relax and release the man from a python-like grip. "Where are we?"

Soul snorted, cracking his neck as he reached to remove his helmet. "Well, I don't want to drive at night and traffic through New York was murder, so this is Bristol and we leave for Memphis tomorrow, happy?" With a wiggle, he pried himself from her grasp, carefully pinching her sleeves with a cheeky grin at her frazzled appearance. "Now, I'm going to get a room for the night, so stay with the bike. Loads of people jack rides from toothpicks like you."

"Excuse me, Mister Shark Bite?" Maka sneered with heat and loathing, flustered at his unbothered chuckle. "Hey! There better be two rooms!" She called as he shrugged and walked towards the main office, the ting of the bell as he opened the door loud enough to wake anyone.

"Stay with the bike." Maka muttered sourly, slouching at last with relaxed legs that burned from the workout. "I'll show him. This toothpick knows how to make grown men cry." And she did. Karate was an effective way to defend herself when she was younger from the boys that liked to pull at her pigtails and trip her feet. Not one punk would get past her.

It was a short amount of time before Soul came back out of the office, a single room key in his fingers. Glancing from his smirk to the one brass key dangling from his index finger, she scowled. "That doesn't look like two rooms." She muttered.

Soul shrugged, nodding to his bike. "The price was outrageous. If you want to buy your own, prepare to sell a kidney."

Her mouth shut, a pensive look gracing her face.

Maybe...if she never told a soul, pun not intended, it would be okay. "There is two beds, right?"

The white haired man nodded. "Duh, anything else just wouldn't be cool."

With little help, the woman managed to untie her rolling bag and followed him up to the first set of doors, the dark parking lot growing smaller as they ventured into the light of the halls.

Room two, with two queen sized beds and plenty of space so that they had room to move, unlike on the bike.

"So, what is in Memphis?" Maka decided to question as she laid out a set of clothing for the next days ride, favoring capri shorts over the skirt for at least one day. "For you, I mean."

She didn't see Soul stiffen at the question, his body slouching over the foot of his own bed. "A concert." He answered quickly, almost bitter in tone as he extracted sweats and a loose shirt from a leather pouch that he had fastened to the tank of his bike before.

"Oh." Maka hummed, pulling back the stiff and tacky stitched comforter, wrinkling her nose at the feel of the itchy white sheets beneath. Ew. "So you are a music fan?"

Soul glanced over, a thoughtful expression on his face as he nodded."You could say that. What about you? What kind of music do you listen to?" He inquired with a new interest.

Maka flushed, looking away as she clambered into her bed and drew up the sheets. "Uh... I read, mostly. I really don't know much about music."

"Do you have a song you like, at least?" He probed, slightly relieved at her answer.

Maka puffed her cheeks and glared at her traveling companion. "I will take that to my grave." She hissed.

Soul cackled. "That embarrassing, huh?"

"Shut up and sleep, punk." Maka snipped back, rolling so that he was greeted with her back.

"The concert is mine." The white haired man suddenly blurted, much too loudly for hotel standards. At his slip, he fell to sprawl on the bed, nasty comforter and all, with a groan.

The woman was silent, but he could tell she was all ears. Her bright eyes were sharp and her tongue just as quick. Any information she would devour.

"My parents want me to play a concert of my own works in front of a crowd, but...they are going to dislike it like everything else I compose." He snorted haughtily, proudly. "But my compositions are far to personal for them to understand." He added bitterly, fingers drumming along his stomach, habitually playing a theme from one of his favorite works.

He heard the sheets shifting as the woman rolled over in her own bed to watch him curiously, the tough and callous exterior melting away to the woman she was meant to be for a second. She regarded him for a moment more before softly asking with hesitance, "Can...can you play a song? Like...let me listen?"

When his head turned to face her, she retracted quickly, "If you don't mind, that is. I don't really understand music, so-" Teeth nibbled at her bottom lip at the thought that she overstepped a boundary of sorts. It was obviously personal, and she may have been too forward.

But, Soul Evans shrugged, concealing his interest by fishing out his smart phone and dragging his thumb to unlock it. A few clicks later, and a piano began to play from the tiny speakers of the device. Turning his hand so the sound waves moved towards her waiting ears, Soul let the music play, watching her expressions like a hawk.

Maka gave no hint of disgust or indignation like so many before, much to his surprise. Her forest eyes were locked on the screen in interest, not speaking a word as the notes melded into chords and rhythms. The sforzandos had her attention, as well at the harsh staccatos that dotted the music like waves crashing on rocks. The dark harmony did not scare her, as it did for others.

Only interest was displayed on her face as the piece ended and Soul stopped the autoplay. He waited patiently, watching her lick her lips and stare from the phone to his face.

"I like it." She said earnestly with a smile. "It sounds really cool."

 _It sounds really cool_ , he repeated in his mind slowly, a small grin infecting his face. She thinks his music was cool...yet she doesn't understand music at all.

Strange how this girl seemed different than he originally expected. The haughty but cautious woman he picked up for karma points now melting away to reveal a cheerful soul that he really misjudged.

"I have discs with more, but my bike isn't very good with that." He confessed with a roll of his eyes, shifting under his covers with drooping eyes.

Maka regarded him a moment longer before she spoke. "What was that song called?"

With a long sigh, the man replied, "Soul Resonance." The popcorn ceiling proved uninteresting to look at, and his red eyes fell back to her olive orbs. "One of thirteen works."

The sparkle of interest never left her face, digging at her like a book that just revealed a deeper and complex plot. The main character, a lazy and arrogant man, now showing a different side of the page. Really soon in their temporary partnership but she did spend the entire ride clinging to him for dear life. He promised to get her places safely, and her listening to his story proved he made good on his word.

Breaking his word was anything but cool, after all.

"So...why were you in Boston when your...family, is in Memphis?" The ash blonde finally said, feeling the warmth of her body filling the covers and lessening the chill of the air conditioning unit. Sleep prodded at her eyes, but the temptation of talking to a new friend kept her awake. She could tell Soul felt the same.

"Independent work. I go around and perform at bars and stuff. I'm only going to Tennessee to drop of a new recording of my works. I ain't going to show my face around long." His arms rose to tuck under his pillow, his back rolling flat on the lumpy mattress. "What about you? Why Death City? That's like the middle of the desert."

His eyes watched her from his peripheral, taking in her teeth nettling at her bottom lip in self evaluation as she searched for an answer. She was definitely running like he was, but he could see there was more to it. However, she had been outgoing in talking to him, and not giving her the same respect was uncool.

"Well-" she held the word on her tongue, giving him one hell of a sheepish smile. "-a number of things. My Mama was last heard from in Death City so I hope to meet up with her. I applied to the Shibusen Academy for Criminal Justice, and orientation is coming up. Also, my Papa is worthless, bringing all sorts of floozies home. I was tired of it." Her legs shifted as she curled into a fetal position, fingers relaxed on her pillow. "So, I'm hitchhiking across the country."

"That's pretty cool," Soul chuckled, snorting at her proud gleam in her eyes and the spring in her voice, "And you've only made it almost 500 miles. A bit lackluster, huh?"

Her cheeks puffed out and she scowled at him. "I'm doing it, aren't I? Shut up, Soul!" She hissed before rolling over again, "Jerk."

The musician sighed through his nose, reaching over to turn off the lamp at his bedside. "I guess this is goodnight then." He mused to the darkness, the only light creeping through the cracks of the blinds.

* * *

It would have been a good night...had the motel not been filled with noisy punks on the second floor and the room they were in wasn't haunted with the soul of a restless traveler. With the loud voices of the living and the blinds shaking from the undead, Soul and Maka found sleep almost impossible.

"Oh my God, stop!" Maka wailed to the restless spirit as she buried her head under the pillow, the blinds ceasing the shaking before picking back up again. Never mind that the haunting had come as a complete surprise and summed up her luck on this adventure.

The supernatural never really bothered her, her mother teaching her about spirits and to respect the dead. The fact that the one motel room they had in Bristol was haunted was ironic.

Soul being a grumpy asshole when denied sleep, however, was no surprise.

"Fight me, Casper! Come on! I need my sleep!" He snarled, stomping up to the blinds and shaking his fist. "I'll tie your ectoplasm ass together and send you hurling! Respect those who still need to sleep!"

What a hero he was. He cursed at a ghost and successfully made it mad. The television clicked on, the drawers rattling ominously. A turn of events like this was unforeseen, and Maka suddenly knew that checkout time had come early...four AM.

"What was that? Time to call the Ghostbusters?!" Soul hissed, cupping his ears as indiscernible static filtered through the stereo speakers. "Bring it! I've seen all the movies!"

"Soul, we should just get a head start." Maka instructed as the bathroom lights flickered on and off, the chill of the room greater now. If any of the ghost stories she had seen were true, it was time to leave before an orb appeared or something. "Let's find breakfast."

The man growled, stiff but compliant as he stuffed his own bag, sending dirty looks every which way as supernatural happenings occurred all around. "But the continental breakfast-" He whined dismally, squinting at the covers, "I payed for a room to sleep!"

Maka had to giggle at the whole situation. She runs away, hitchhiking across the States, only to have the first night filled with a haunting.

Typical.

"If they sell us rooms like this, I fear what these guys will feed us." She reasoned easily, shouldering her bag and ignoring the TV turning on and off angrily. "But, if you feel daring, I guess I can learn to drive your bike, right?"

That got the white haired man's cooperation. The fear instilled, he nearly raced past her out the door, flipping the bird towards the rude spirit as he vacated.

Maka rolled her eyes, thanked the spirit for not killing them, and followed her driver out of the crazy motel that wasted time and money.

* * *

She picked Cracker Barrel for breakfast when it opened at 6 AM, enjoying a warm and decent food while Soul scarfed down his own, complaining with a mouthful about the swindling asshole that gave them a haunted room and stole his hard earned money.

The movie Paranormal Activity warned of spiritual interactions, so Maka was less surprised. This road trip was going to be riddled with trial and error, she could smell it on the horizon like a coming storm.

"Oi, Maka." Soul said as soon as he hoovered through a second plate of flapjacks, leaning over the table and watching her carefully play the Peg Board game, her fingers strategically lifting every tee and lowering her final count. The woman had been at it the moment her meal was finished and Soul saw a new part of this mystery traveler.

She was smart.

Every game left her with one tee, dubbing her a genius every time. So, now she was like, a genius to the tenth power?

He didn't know. But, he did know how to wager a bet.

"Hm?" She hummed, smirking as she reset the minefield of pegs with practiced fingers.

"I bet you-" Soul drawled, sliding the saucer of butter aside, reaching for the syrup, "that you can't find the tackiest thing for my bike in the store."

A clear challenge that had Maka pause and raise a brow in interest. "Oh?" She breathed with a smirk, and Soul knew he had her.

They were birds of a feather, it seemed, prone to gullibility by pride.

"What is the wager?" She added as the waitress sauntered by to drop the check at the corner of the table.

Soul's grin widened, displaying rows of strangely sharp teeth. "Loser pays the bill."

The woman didn't miss a beat, "You're on."

He nearly bowled over a pair of kids gawking at the candy resting in wooden barrels as he scoured the general store for something tacky enough to blow Maka out of the betting pool. His second plate of pancakes had been costly, so he certainly didn't want to be saddled with the bill.

Not that he totally cheated by leaving Maka to explain to the wait staff that they were, in fact, not skipping out on the bill. No, not him.

He danced along the aisles of candles and tinker toys, searching high and low for something to save him from a hefty breakfast bill.

"I win!" The biker declared, popping open his brown paper bag and pulling out a small decorative pair of fuzzy die, the red fluff horrid and tacky as he could imagine.

He held it out like a prized catch, waggling them beneath the amused blonde's nose. "Ready to admit defeat?" He chided, tossing the items up and down in his palms.

Maka hummed, taking in the lousy stitching to the velvet circles with a critical eye before sighing. "You are a worthy opponent-" She began, fishing in her own brown bag, "-but you cannot defeat me." With a flourish, she pulled out her weapon: a pair of pink, glitter fairy tassels with universal grips.

Soul had never expected his jaw dropping so wide.

"So," she purred with a swing of the plastic tassels, a wicked gleam in her eyes, "-thanks for breakfast. I'll go put on the tacky souvenirs while you cover the bill."

He had no idea that he was helping hitchhiking Satan.

His poor, poor bike. Good money had gone into making it the most badass bike he had ever built. Long hours welding and painting, hours of lost sleep over building the exhaust and customizing the fender, all void as soon as he saw the pretty pink tassels fluttering in the wind.

The fuzzy die dangled over his gas gauge, pined to the wires so that it may never part from the bike in the event of a strong gust.

Lucky him.

Though, the woman already perched on the back was an incentive, even if she looked ready for war with her tense posture and worried eyes. Some people just weren't 'Born to be Wild', he guessed.

But, when her green eyes locked on him, a smile crossed her lips and her hold on the helmet in her lap relaxed. "Hurry up, Soul!"

Or, maybe some people needed to be taught.

They blew into Tennessee like civilized drivers because Maka would pinch his thigh every time he crossed over the speed limit, obeying all laws and driving his bike like a car despite the appearance. Scratch the 'Satan' part, Maka was a grandma trapped in a young adult body.

By the time they got to Memphis, he had an enormous crick in his neck and a throbbing thigh from his passenger's abuse. Never again, he thought. Never again will he ever pick up another hitchhiker in the outskirts of Boston. Never ever again.

The low purr of his ride kept the honking and sounds of downtown out of his ears, though it made it harder to hear Maka's amazed calls and questions as they weaved between streets and up to the east side. Familiar boutiques flashed by, familiar due to his mother dragging him along when he was too young to understand that his brother needed alone time to practice. His eyes never wavered towards the glass windows filled with the latest fashions for the wealthy and the prestigious.

Maka's 'oh's and ah's' were slightly refreshing, however. Her attention was no longer on his driving, much too busy taking in the sights and sounds from the City of Music. Every nasty street grate to pompous pedestrian, she ogled respectively. Not one cafe escaped her notice as the neighborhood progressively got neater, Soul powering the bike mercilessly to get up a hill where his former home resided.

Maka didn't peg Soul as a fan of the naked angel statues that formed an army around the front courtyard of his home. The stoic little faces made the illusion that eyes were following them around as he turned and motored down the long stone driveway to the cul-de-sac style opening at the front of the pale white mansion.

The little stickers of skulls on his luggage served as her reasoning.

Puttering sounds from his muffler echoed like gunshots through the peaceful yard, startling away birds and squirrels from the freshly trimmed grass, warning any inhabitants of their arrival. Soul pulled his bike up right next to a silver Lexus, stopping and keeping the balance of the bike on his legs so that his passenger didn't topple off with her lack of grace. It was the last leg of his journey with her and dropping her face first on the doorstep of his house was a little cruel.

It would be hilarious for him, however.

Once he felt her shift and her arms relaxed around his torso, he cut the power and heard the glossy wooden doors open to their left, signaling a butler had come to greet him. Granted he probably looked twenty percent cooler with a girl saddling his bike but it was obvious how Maka didn't like the empty stare that Soul had grown accustomed to in his years at the Evan's Manor. Even off the bike, she stood much closer to him with that painted on smile that she had greeted him with when he first met her on the side of the highway.

Maka was a genuine person, greeting with warm smiles as long as there was respect given. Old Alonzo was not upholding the respectful stare as he peered down at her with a sniff of his pencil mustache. "Master Soul, your parents have been expecting you... _hours_ ago. They wait in the Entertainment Room with guests as we speak."

He gave one distasteful glance to Maka, her helmet hair quite a sight. "Shall I offer the young Miss some tea?" Another glaze over of her wrinkled clothes and the ratty backpack on her shoulders. "And call her a cab?"

His lips parted to answer, but Maka beat him to it with a curt but sweetly false reply, "The Young Miss can speak for herself and she'd much rather hear _Master Soul's_ music once again, thanks."

Soul snorted at the aghast expression on the butler's face as Maka stuck up her nose and marched right past him into the house, giving Soul one helpless glance once she entered. His home was a maze and on her anger fading, she realized that she had not been invited in.

"...That was cool." He drawled casually as he fell into step beside her as he motioned towards where his parents awaited.

Never mind that she was a complete stranger to both his parents and him, the awkward fact that she was trampling through their abode with about as much confidence as a local cat, and she would be gone from his life in around two hours or so.

This whole experience was awkward.

What a great story to tell her Mama when she finds her.

Soul grew more ridged as each step brought them closer to the doorway into the Entertainment room, red eyes sharpening into blades of intelligence and raw grit, silently preparing himself. Though, he looked like he'd rather face a lion in the den than his parents.

Once they entered the dreaded room, Maka understood why.

Sure, a mansion in Memphis should have indicated wealth and finesse. She just didn't imagine it hard enough. Or...casual enough?

Hawaiian shirt: that was the first thing she noticed. Painfully floral and color filled, it took up most of the attention she had to spare. Soul's father, she assumed from the similar eyes, glowed like a vibrant printed hibiscus in the dark oak styled room. The rest of the folks were neatly dressed in cocktail dresses and tuxes, but Soul's parents were a beacon of color.

His mother sat before her husband, perched like a true lady in a purple sundress of the matching variety, her white hair complementing the shade. Did hibiscus' even come in purple?

Soul didn't comment on his family's tropical appearance, eyes harpooning on the big grand piano as if it were the lion he wished to tame. With fangs of ebony and ivory, perhaps it was a beast.

"Soul." His mother greeted evenly, her hand airy with the wave she delivered to her son. His father was less vocal, settling for a nod and a curious raise of his brow at Maka. The chatter faded away as many guest took notice of the newcomers, the whispers already dancing through the crowd.

"Mother, Father." Her friend answered, moving a hand to gesture towards Maka. "This is Maka. She's a friend."

That drew even more glances to her and her helmet hair and wind sheared attire. She could tell Soul's mother's interest was perked, but she otherwise remained silent as Soul squared off with his father.

"So, you have a composition to share with us? I hope your independent work has proven fruitful." Mr. Evans boasted, a twinkle of worry in his gaze as Soul answered with a toothy sneer.

The tension was unreal, thicker than frozen tub butter from a grocery store. She could totally get the dynamics of the Evan's family just from her spot off in the corner.

The father that held high expectations for his son. The mother that was emotionally detached. The son that wanted to be himself but was smothered under social rules.

Maka could not help but feel very sorry for her new found traveling buddy. Her parents had supported her no matter how or what she did, despite their own issues with each other.

Lost in her musings, she missed Soul's Walk of Terror to the monster with 88 black and white teeth. Those red eyes glared down at it like it was an old friend that had still disappointed him, still well liked by all but himself.

Fists opening to clench closed again, Soul pursed his lips before slowly plopping down on the center of the bench, most of his body hidden behind the grand piano. Sleek, black polish made his white hair pop, giving him the image of a demonic man finally tamed enough to make sounds dance in the form of music.

He was a master of the written note, she deduced that from hearing just one of his pieces. Once he cleared his throat and commanded silence from all that witnessed, Maka got to hear the magic of his compositions once again.

It was thrilling to hear it, the room most likely build for the proper acoustics. Every note quivered in her rib cage, the prestos making her heart race along with the measures.

Maka didn't know a thing about music but she sure as hell knew what his music was doing to her.

By the time he finished, his fingers resting on a minor chord that struck the senses against the grain, Maka's hands were meeting in loud claps of appreciation, truly amazed at the passion he had.

The sound echoed through the silent room, startling her to realize that she was alone in the applause.

Faces of horror and disgust filled the faces of the guests and Soul's parents, disappointment and dislike prominent in the air.

To think she thought he exaggerated how his parents disliked the music he wrote. Seeing was believing, she supposed. A few of the abhorred glances directed to her for clapping but most of the attention was on Soul's parents as they stood and publicly apologized for the performance.

Soul, however, proudly grinned with an air of viciousness as he stood and bowed, walking right past his snarling father and towards the door. With one look at her, the woman figured she had to follow lest she get trapped in a room full of stuffy ass-wipes.

He never slowed, stalking right back towards the exit with all the pride he could muster, the only thing that gave him away were the tense shoulders of a man scorned. Shoulders of a man broken again no matter how much he tried to hide it.

"Soul, wait up!" Maka called, huffing as she followed him right out of the front doors and saw that the bike had remained untouched during the very short performance. Her bags still were tied down and her helmet was still waiting.

"I'll take you to the bus station, but from there, you're on your own." Soul muttered, his tone dead and emotionless. It was like they stole the drive from him and he knew they would.

"Soul-" She tried.

"Quit wasting time." He snapped moodily, kicking the bike and making it roar to life, sounding equally as angry and downtrodden.

It absolutely broke her heart.

It was just like her and the time her Mama just walked out, leaving her with her Papa and a stack of divorce papers and custody denials.

Still, she straddled the bike and put on her helmet, clinging to him with the same unwavering trust as he sped away from the mansion that held his creativity behind bars of disapproval. He was just like her when she was suffocating behind her Papa's sins.

Despite the tenseness of his body, he took the turns slow like she had asked, making sure she stayed on the back of the bike.

He was a cool guy like that.

Only, when he stopped right on the curbside where the bus station started, he wasn't so cool.

He said nothing as he helped her with her bags, taking the helmet she offered with slow hesitation. The sounds of squeaky bus suspensions echoed through the afternoon air, hurting her ears as she strained to listen for one whisper from Soul.

The only words from him was a question of swapping numbers and a warning to be careful on her trip.

"You can go with me." She blurted suddenly, clasping her hands over her mouth at her audacity. Even he stared for a moment in shock before those bright eyes faded to dull maroon in defeat. Sharp teeth pursed at his bottom lip and he looked down to his feet.

"No, I have to keep my solo career near home." He replied softly, lying through his teeth.

That was what set Maka off. Scowling, she pinched his cheek and savored the foul curse word that filtered through his mouth in shock. "Boston is over a thousand miles away. Death City is over two thousand miles away. What is stopping you?!"

With a pause to huff, she added, "You don't have to stay. Your music is great, modern, and jazzy. You don't have to change a thing about it!"

"Or maybe, you just aren't the person your music needs yet." She finished harshly, turning to stomp away, leaving him staring after her with a slack jaw. Her roller bag dragged behind her, almost begging her not to leave like that. The backpack felt heavy on her shoulders, the muggy heat of the atmosphere much harder on her than it was in Boston.

And, where she was going, it would only get worse.

She settled with the fact that she was leaving her Papa behind. Leaving bad blood between the one guy she actually thought was decent wasn't on her list.

Flinching when her ears caught the sound of the bike roaring awake, Maka didn't dare turn around to watch Soul motor away back to his claustrophobic manor. Watching such a free man return to his prison wasn't something she wanted to remember him by.

She bypassed the bus station, walking down the cracked and eroded sidewalk with her thumb proudly in the air. She passed pawn shops and grocery stores, marching beyond the highway bypasses with that dainty thumb saluting the sky, much like how she had in the beginning.

Though, she knew she wouldn't be as lucky as to get somebody like Soul.

And, as a horn honked behind her and the sound of an engine hissing as it shifted down gears, Maka licked her lips before bracing herself to turn and face her next challenge in the journey.

A Jeep Grand Cherokee. Bright, lime green with a giant, black star decal on the hood.

Maka had to admit, it looked ridiculous but cool.

Face it, lime green was a statement in itself.

But, what came out of the Jeep was something else entirely. A boy no older than herself with electric blue hair _leaped_ out of the drivers door, face split in a cocky and excited grin. He dressed in all black, finger-less gloves adding to his mystery, a black star tattooed on his bicep.

"Yahoo!" He cried, sliding over his hood to greet her with a proud stance, hands on his hips as he laughed right in her face. "Need a ride from the great Black Star?" He howled with no regards to personal boundaries. "Good think I came along to see you!"

"Uh, hello?" She greeted meekly, completely thrown by this strange man and his enthusiasm. "I'm trying to get to Death City, Nevada."

He blinked in surprise before blatantly laughing at her, throwing his head back and calling his mirth to the cloudy sky above. "What a coincidence! I was just heading to Cali to see my girl. I go right past the D.C." He did a little jig, kicking out his right leg with a fist bump to the sky. "I could drop you off right there!"

"Really?!" Maka asked excitedly, gripping her shoulder straps close as she breathed a sigh of relief.

Indeed, what a lucky coincidence.

* * *

Black Star, she came to find, was very egotistical. After helping her load her roller bag over his own luggage, they set off at a decent 35 miles per hour.

Until they reached I-40 West.

Her nails left marks on the platted leather, the 'oh shit' handle sweaty with her palm. Her legs pressed desperately at the invisible brake and she tried to melt into the seat.

Cackling wildly, Black Star weaved through traffic at a solid 80, honking the horn and using the middle fingers as a flag of pride. All the while, he was driving with one hand, sometimes a knee, as he dug into a very large and dripping burrito.

At least Soul took into account her hesitation.

Black Star mocked her for being 'stiff'.

"Maybe I wouldn't if you'd just drive safely!" She snarled angrily, flinching when he swerved over to the right lane to pass, sticking his head out the window to yell that the left lane was for passing only.

"Drive safe?!" He laughed, reaching up into his visor to retrieve a single white envelope. With skilled fingers, he pulled out the letter and shoved it near her face, eyes locked on the road as he teased, "My All State Safe Driving Bonus Check! For every six months I'm accident free, I get one of these babies. You can apologize to your God now. This speaks the _truth._ "

"Black Star, I will call All State and rat you out if you don't slow down." Maka deadpanned, glaring at the man with the very same glare that frightened her Papa into submission.

He had the sense to look startled and mildly sheepish as he let off the gas and slowed the Jeep to a respectable 72.

Her phone vibrated against her thigh and she pointed threateningly at Black Star before picking it up and noticing the strange number on the screen.

Sliding her finger across to answer, she put the phone to her ear and suddenly remembered that she forgot to save Soul's name with his number.

" _Is this Maka?_ " His voice came over the speaker, sounding almost nervous.

"Soul?"

His breath of relief sent static through the connection but he was already talking. " _Great! I caught you. Uh, I've been thinking...and I think you maybe right. I should try to be the person my music needs._ "

"Soul, that's great!"

" _-are you still up for a road trip with me? My bike is all gassed up and stuff—I mean it's cool if you don't-_ "

"Well, I'm not really in Memphis anymore...so-"

" _Wait, you got a ride?_ "

"YAHOO!" Black Star screeched out of the window, honking his horn and revving the engine at a minivan filled with children and one angry soccer mom. "Behold my godly driving skills. I am divine with my blinker signal!"

" _Holy shit...Maka, are you with Black Star?!_ "

"You _KNOW_ this asshole?!" Maka screeched, ignoring Black Star's indignant squawk.

" _Know him, yes. Think that he is a safe driver? No way in hell._ "

"Okay, so I should just jump out of the car then? Sounds like a plan." Maka muttered, glaring at the man that now clung to the steering wheel, nervously avoiding the eyes of a suburban family in a SUV.

" _No, just tell him I'll buy him some gummy worms or some shit if he pulls off at the next rest stop and waits._ "

"Did I just hear Soul saying he'll buy me gummy worms?!" Black Star howled into Maka's free ear, sneering in delight as he swerved through traffic to the right lane. "Alright! Your God accepts this offering! YAHOO!"

The moment the Jeep stopped in the peaceful parking lot of the rest stop, Maka lurched from the vehicle and bolted towards the sweet freedom of the picnic area, ready to barf. The echoing laugh of Black Star followed her and she poured every amount of energy to get to the tree line before she hurled, a little dog barking from a smart car passenger seat at her haste.

Soul arrived around thirty minutes later, helmet-less and wide eyed as he took in Maka slumped over a picnic bench and Black Star prancing around her with a megawatt grin.

"You cool?" He finally said, watching her dull eyes peer out from her sleeves, a green hue to her cheeks as she groaned. He would have laughed...if he had not been so familiar with Black Star's driving, himself.

"Mostly." She burped, wincing and laying her head back down in defeat. "Just...leave me here and I'll walk."

"No worries, oh new disciple of mine!" Star crowed, leaping up on the table and startling Maka to sit up. "I'll drive even faster to get you to Death City, count on it!" The table shook under his weight, and Maka only had a second to remove herself from the bench before the thing buckled under Black Star's weight.

The crackling wood sounded like a gunshot, drawing all sorts of attention from nearby eyes, and Black Star was the center of attention: sprawled on a heap of rubble. His legs were sprawled upwards, kicking randomly as the man regained his bearings.

"That's three benches you've broken this month." Soul pointed out blandly, pulling out his phone to take a quick photo of the carnage. "Keep it up and I'll have an entire album to give to Tsubaki when I see her."

That shocked Black Star to jolt up and point at his friend with utter betrayal on his expression. "Soul! You promised you wouldn't rat me out!"

Soul shrugged. "Lied."

Black Star howled like somebody stabbed him, clinging to Soul like a leech, and Maka finally got some insight to their relationship. Bro lovers?

Maka could never be thankful enough for Soul still wanting to take the trip with them, Black Star still heading to California and willing to drop them off along the way. At least she knew one of the guys she was riding with...and that guy knew the other dude.

So, hitchhiking didn't seem so bad now. Hopefully she would live.

* * *

Renting the U-haul proved to be tedious, Soul wanting to ride in the car with Black Star and herself but not willing to abandon his bike. But, thanks to his enormous savings, the bike and their luggage now towed behind the Jeep, Black Star removed from the driver's wheel and banished to the back seat.

"Back seat in my own fucking car! That's just cruel. Against the Bro Code. Anarchy all around." The hyperactive man whined from behind Maka's ears, kicking the seat and drumming a rhythm on the leather head rests.

Iron Man—Soul identified for her when Star began to belt out lyrics, a pretty classic rock and roll tune.

One mile passed, then two miles, then ten: Iron Man grew a bit old. Way too old. The license plate game grew tiring and Soul had never heard of the alphabet game. He must have lived under a rock all his life.

After fifty miles of Arkansas filled out behind them, Maka found herself dozing against the window, watching vast cornfields and barns blow by. The low hum of the engine, the soft singing from Soul, and the occasional air guitar solos from Star, all lulled her away into a dreamless sleep with the mild excitement of the destination.

* * *

She woke up to dusk and an empty parking lot...

...empty car too.

Glancing around in dazed bewilderment, Maka realized both Soul and Star were gone and the only thing in sight was a small diner surrounded by fields of nothing.

Black and white, perfectly symmetrical, a single building along vast empty land.

The boys ditched her for food?!

With graceful practice, Maka fixed her pigtails while exiting the Jeep with wounded pride. Of course she was hungry too! The last thing she ate was breakfast with Soul and some strange potato chip Star offered her that most likely came from under a car seat.

To be honest, the last option was against her better judgment and lack of self preservation. Real food would be the perfect cure.

Brushing off her cargo shorts and making sure the door was locked behind her, she made her way up the concrete stairs toward the two black doors with perfect circle windows and even lines. Silently, she marveled at the skull designs of the handles before opening the door and walking in.

Black, white, and gold were the only colors inside. The designs were almost Gothic, if not for the modern flair that was not portrayed on the outside.

Very odd for a country diner but Maka supposed location wasn't everything when it came to aesthetics. Plus, the restaurant wasn't very pleasing to the eye when she peeked around the server's booth and saw the only occupied table in the establishment.

Gluttonous pigs devoured all in their path, spilling food down into their laps as they consumed with mindless aggression. Heads of blue and white hair were sprinkled with food remains as they ate what seemed like a family buffet style meal...like animals.

The two waitresses looked so fed up, false smiled painted on their faces that even pained Maka. She was sure the boys would be terrible tippers if their table manners were anything to go by.

Only, her sorry soul had to get back into the enclosed car where the guys would _fart and snicker_ about it while the rest of the passenger's suffered inside locked windows.

What state were they even in anyway?

"Liz, one top." the shorter of the waitresses spoke, ushering the taller one towards Maka. The one word to describe them now was relief. Sweet relief from the neanderthals at table two.

Maka broke it with one apologetic smile and a nod towards the war zone. "I'm...with them." She murmured almost as brokenly as those boy's wallets.

Liz took one glance over her shoulder before tittering, pointing to a booth across from the guys. "Nuh uh, sorry but my boss will have my head if I let you sit in that filth. Here, have a clean table."

Her tone left no room for questions or denial, so Maka slid her bottom into the booth, ignoring Star's gurgle of greeting and Soul's grunt as he glanced to her with a chicken wing dangling out of his lips.

It wasn't like she expected the prime example of class from them but she expected a sliver of manners. If they weren't in a strange restaurant, she'd kick them in the face.

"So, what are they having?"

Liz glanced behind her with the pen poised on the notebook, humming as Soul flung a spoonful of corn at Black Star: who tried to catch every piece in his gaping mouth. "The Super Value 8 course meal."

"Okay, I'll have the opposite of that." Maka replied with ease, grimacing as Star tossed a roll up and Soul lunged up from his chair to catch it with his mouth. It looked like a dog jumping to catch a treat. But, after traveling over one-thousand miles with this guy, Maka could pick apart his goofy and serious sides pretty easily.

Almost too easily as he sent her one curious glance with those sharp eyes. So sharp, that she nearly choked on her water as she felt the hot flush of embarrassment.

"...I'm still here, you know." Liz piped up, knowingly grinning like she knew the pass codes to all the bank vaults in the county.

All sense left her as she squinted at the waitress in confusion. "What?" She said dumbly.

"I asked if you wanted a side salad...or are you thirsting for something _else?_ "

That suggestive eyebrow waggle made everything worse.

"A side salad and nothing _else!_ " Came from her mouth like verbal vomit as she scowled at the smirking waitress, avoiding the boy's curious glance over at her racket.

They were just companions, both of them, making sure she makes it to Death City. They were just passerby's. People she'd never really see again after she found her Mama and started her new life in Nevada.

This was only temporary.

Only temporary, she thought as she watched Star stick straws in his mouth like walrus tusks and Soul frantically curse because water came out of his nose. A few more hundred miles and she'll be alone again, with hardly any leads to finding her mother in a large city. If her mother was still in that city.

Maka drowned that terrible thought with ice water, wincing at the chill seeping through her teeth at the reckless choice. This had to be the right thing, since her Papa didn't really mind bringing strange women into her life. Going out on her own was the only option, the best option.

Night fell past the large windows, light bleeding out of the building into the dark. Off in the distance, across a plain and atop a far off ridge, the moon began to make its climb into the sky, full and luminous.

It made the diner feel like the only sanctuary in a world of nothing.

"Oi, you okay?" Soul called to her, dabbing with salvaged pride at the wet stain on his shirt, red eyes scanning her before narrowing at Liz's back accusingly. "Do you need me to say somethin'?"

Well, love it while it lasts, her mind added as she smiled. "Nah, just zoning out. Still on Boston time."

After a moment of scrutiny, Soul hummed and blinked, returning to his food with slow calculation, eyes shifting towards her every few moments.

Even when her salad and pasta arrived, he shot Liz shifty glances, just daring the woman to try anything. He was like a marshmallow dressed as a rough biker except when it came to paying the bill.

Liz took her card with a grateful smile, bringing back a receipt like every other exchange at the end of meals. Patty, on the other hand, scowled as Star and Soul whispered to each other, gesturing wildly to the receipt as if it were a ransom note.

Perhaps it was when Patty's face soured and Star shook his head with a pathetic gesture to his pants pockets.

Maka was sorry to be thankful for the thunderous bang that echoed from the back kitchen, drowning out the piano music over the speakers. Even Patty forgot her irritation in favor of a humored sigh as the swinging doors burst open with a vengeance.

Out came a man in a tux with pressed cuffs and clipped tie, black and white bar hair ever in place despite his pale complexion. The white chef hat was perfect, clean and painfully symmetrical on his crown.

Everything was symmetrical about him, actually.

"Liz! Patty! It's terrible!" He cried, nearly collapsing on the floor of the aisle as he marched up to the waitresses without regard to the paying, or not paying in Star's case, customers. "A disaster! I am trash. Why did I even open a restaurant?! I am clearly not worthy!"

He crumpled to his knees, perfect face marred with a grimace of horror, "The paper towels are not properly folded into a symmetrical triangle! The American Dream is a farce. There is no hope."

Patty cackled, bouncing from foot to foot as she snorted. "Well, you've done it now." She chided, ignoring the swat from the taller woman in mirth.

"Honestly Kid, I'd like to actually have regulars that tip well but you keep chasing them off when you're like this." Liz bemoaned, stepping aside as the chef waddled along on his knees, too frazzled to do anything but belittle himself.

"A disgrace, a sham, what kind of chef am I if I can't properly fold the towels into perfect triangles. I must be-" Kid cut off, eyes wide on Maka like he just saw the light of day for the first time. To be honest, the intensity freaked her out and even Star bristled like the big brother she never asked for.

"Miss, may I just say that you are an exquisite masterpiece!" The man blurted, hobbling over on his knees like a thirsting beggar with eyes set on the future. "Your hair, your face, even your clothes—perfect symmetry! Be still my heart!"

He leaned close then, whispering as if telling a secret, "Can I take a picture with you?"

"What the hell?!" Soul blurted, jolting up and glaring a storm of daggers at the newcomer. "Don't hit on her like that! That's not cool, dude!" His skilled hands slammed on the table, sending silverware clattering to the floor.

"Yeah!" Black Star piped in, rising with his friend to defend her, spaghetti sauce coating the corners of his mouth. "She's taken with the worshiping of me!"

"What? No, Black Star...ugh." The pianist groaned, slapping his hand over his face in exasperation. "Not what I was getting at, bro."

"Big deal. You two can't even pay your bill!" Patty hissed, the humored exterior gone again as she pointed to the tiny slip of paper. Glossy nails underlined the row of numbers and Soul spluttered under the icy stare that Kid was giving him now.

"I can't pay that! I mean, why so many eights?! So many crazy eights on this paper-!"

"Are you opting out of paying?" Kid asked, voice dangerously low as he stood and turned away from Maka. The air became heavy, icy as all eyes locked on Soul and Black Star: stumbling over their words and frantically elbowing each other. The menacing steps closer to their table only thickened the tension, and Maka then realized that those boys will be minced meat if she didn't step in, eyeing how Kid's fingers twitched with every irritated breath.

"They are, because I'm covering their bill." She spoke without really thinking, swallowing when all five people turned to look at her. Back in Boston, she'd keep her mouth shut and her head on her shoulders. Sticking her neck out for a bunch of dolts? Old Maka wouldn't think twice about ignoring the trouble.

But, some how in the eight hours crammed in the same car as them, they became _her_ dolts.

"Is that so?" Kid hummed, the dark aura already fading away to a calm and collected figure, "Well then, I guess everything is fine here. Liz, Patty, I leave it to you."

Turning on a graceful heel, Kid began to walk away, slipping past the metal swing doors as if the little breakdown never happened.

It was clear that Liz and Patty wanted them out, the boy's check handed to her quickly and any last requests were filled.

Maka had never been chased out of a restaurant before, but now that she associated herself with Black Star, it had to be a given occurrence. Knocking over a basket of mints and only saying, "Oops, sorry, my fingers slipped." was not a proper thing to do to an already angry wait staff.

* * *

Gravel flew as Soul forced the Jeep to drift out of the parking lot, Liz and Patty throwing toothpicks and mints at the car's side as they peeled down the road, the trailer bobbing behind.

Funny enough, they were crying with laughter as they left the diner in the dust, speeding closer to Death City.

"Man, I thought that weird guy was gonna stab us or something!" Black Star laughed as he kept the car in-between the lines. "Best worst restaurant ever! I have to take Tsubaki there sometime!"

"Why on Earth would you take your girlfriend to a terrible restaurant?!" Maka asked, leaning up from the back seat she had thrown herself in to escape the onslaught of white and red mints. Her hands anchored on the leather of the seats, eyes shifting from Soul to Star curiously. "And, for the record, you assholes owe me $88.88."

"Oh, got a potty mouth now?" Soul teased with a smile over his shoulder, hands adjusting the vents on the dashboard. "I'd hate to think this whole road trip was a bad influence."

Bad influence? More like an eye opener to the world outside. Never before had she felt so free, so lightweight in her thoughts. Living with her Papa had been like a cage.

Now...now she was free and searching for her Mama.

Her Mama that only bothered to send postcards once in a while and never visit her only daughter.

"Uh, are you okay? You got kinda quiet." The biker asked cautiously, peering over his shoulder while Star glanced through his rear-view mirror. They both cared, despite only knowing her for less than three days.

It warmed her heart to have friends like them.

"Oh, I'm fine. I was...just worried I wouldn't catch my mother in Death City. Like, what will happen if I miss her?" Her olive eyes locked on the road maps stored in the seat pockets, the three big 'A's reminding her that there was a whole lot more road out there. Her Mama could be driving away down any of them, missing her completely.

Stuck in Death City after hitchhiking across the country sounded like an anticlimactic bummer.

"That's easy, you keep doing what you've been doing!" Star replied as if she were stupid, tapping his fingers on the wheel. "You seem like you are doing fine without her, you know?"

His eyes drifted back to the road, the yellow lines blazing past under the florescent headlamps. "I mean, you got yourself up and made it all the way to Death City-"

"200 miles from Death City." Soul corrected with a snort, digging in the glove-box now and tossing a small bag of peanuts back to her without prompt.

"-almost to Death City." Black Star amended with a blind swat at his friend's shoulder. "Bro, at least let me finish before you interrupt. The almighty me is trying to enlighten a disciple here."

Soul ignored him, turning in his seat to raise a brow at her. "Look, I'm going to be the person my music needs to be. You need to be the person you are meant to be, and if that includes not catching your mother this time: there is always next time." Waggling his brows, he sent a toothy smirk her way that made her insides coil. "Me and my bike are always up for another ride."

Black Star snickered. "Oh, wait until I text Wes about this. He's gonna want to hear all about this ' _smooth-talk Soul_ '."

At that, Soul stiffened and glared at his pal coldly. "Okay, new road trip rule. We never speak of that guy in my presence, _ever again_."

"Uh, guys?"

Star sneered mockingly, battering his eyes in a stereotypical way. "Oh Soul~ Have you found that special lady~? I want to hear what you wrote for her~ Come here and give the big bro a hug~"

"Star?"

Soul growled, bristling and snarling. "I'll tell Tusbaki about that kitchen accident two weeks ago." He threatened with no mercy in his tone.

Black Star actually gasped in offense, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Soul? I really-"

"Dude! You _promised_ not to tell Tsubaki that I set my oven on fire! I told her I wouldn't have any accidents while she was in Cali! Bro, you _swore_ on the _Bro Code_." Star hissed, baring his teeth and looking menacing for once. "You-"

" _Guys!_ " Maka yelled loud enough to make her own poor ears ring, startling them out of the argument to watch her squirm helplessly. "I...really need to go to the bathroom." Her voice came out meek and soft, cheeks red as both sets of eyes widened at her declaration. Honestly, they were strangers that didn't need to know about her latrine needs, but emergencies were emergencies after all.

"Why the hell didn't you go went we stopped?" Soul reprimanded much like a mature man would while Star began to scour the signs for a good place to stop as he asked, "Can't you hold it?"

"Oh, at the crazy diner? _I didn't have to go then and no I can't hold it!"_ Snapping made her bladder feel so much better and watching the guys panic about finding a good rest area was almost hilarious...if she wasn't about to explode from her own urine.

It would be so hard to say goodbye to this adventure and the two guys she dared to call her friends.

* * *

Death City was quite a sight to behold while driving in just as the sun began to rise off the horizon. The Gothic designs and small town feel certainly enticed her curiosity as she stared out into the new adventure that awaited her, fingers firm on the steering wheel.

After the rest stop and Star nearly buying out the vending machines just to piss future travelers off, Maka managed to obtain the driver's seat, letting the others finally rest for once and leave the driving to her.

Snores filled the cab, and she spared a moment to glance at the peaceful faces of the biker that first gave her a ride and the crazy nutcase that helped her go even further. Now, it was she that brought them into Death City at last, knowing soon they would have to part ways again.

Well, Black Star had to go to California. Soul made it clear that he was staying in Death City and was clearly planning on being a neighbor with the way he was talking about her finding a place where he could crash.

Or...that meant he wanted to live with her, but she wasn't up to date with his lingo just yet.

The U-Haul rattled as she slowed, her hands guiding the car towards a random exit ramp that looked like a decent place to start her search.

Well, after a Deathbuck's coffee. Black Star swore it was phenomenal.

She just had to find one first.

Laughable, she mused as Soul muttered something under his breath in his sleep. She just traveled almost three thousand miles asphalt away from home with Soul and Black Star and _survived_.

Finding a coffee shop should be simple, especially with the coming time where the guys would wake, and her peaceful mind would be interrupted once again with the bitter coming of goodbye: to Black Star, at least for now. He promised to bring Tsubaki by next time before he went up into Wyoming to hunt for Bigfoot or something.

If she happened to see her Mama, Maka knew she would be proud. She had the courage to leave the only home she had ever known, and now she had the courage to take on college in a new city.

Though, with Soul by her side, surviving Death City should be just as easy as traveling across the country.

Right?

* * *

 **Final word count: 12,513**

 **Ah, so it's finished! I gotta tell you guys I learned a lot during these long months.**

 **I want to thank the resbangmods for the hard work they put into this event.**

 **I also want to thank whos-that-foxi-lady and thebeesnhis for sticking with me all this way and making such beauuutiful art.**

 **Tah Dah! My first Resbang is over and done! I can't wait to see everyone else's work!**


End file.
